City of Angels
by Dancerslife
Summary: To serve and protect is what the LAPD officers live by. Never did they think of protecting the city from one of their own.
1. Monday

_Monday – 2000 – 9:00pm_

The call came into Patrol first. Local Black and White officers pulled up to the apartment in which the call originated from and which the crime was originally allegedly committed.

A woman placed the call into dispatch. She was getting something from her car when she saw a body slouched over in the front seat. She didn't know if they were dead or if they were alive. She couldn't tell if there had been any foul play – she didn't take a survey of the car, it just seemed off. She called it an instinct, a gut feeling, and she went along with it.

A single patrol car pulled up to the front of the building. The two officers got out and entered the building, flashing their badges at the man at the security desk. It was customary to have a junior officer and a senior when on Patrol. The junior had yet to complete their probationary training and needed supervision. The senior was essentially there along for the ride, to point out their mistakes, and to be the supervision and to step in when necessary.

The landlord of the building greeted the two men. He had the set of keys that would lead them up to the roof where the woman had reported the body. The woman who had called was also near by; they would get to her later. It was the bodies that the two patrol officers were most interested in.

As the woman reported it just looked like the couple was asleep. The man had his head against the steering wheel. The female next to him, in the passenger seat had her head resting against the window. Both victims were deceased – victims of apparent gun shot wounds; multiple gun shot wounds. The shattered glass that was riddled with bullets helped prove that theory.

"Call it in," the training officer said.

It was policy to call in the Detectives who would be dealing with this. Patrol essentially could step back; disappear into their world while the other guys dealt with the case. It was a double homicide so the kid called the only number he knew off the top of his head that would be able to properly get this figure out.

Major Crimes.

Mike Tao was the first to arrive, closely followed by the rest of the squad. Provenza walked up to the Command center that was already set up, flashed his badge and zoned in on the kid. Provenza stepped up to him, gave the kid a look and waited for the kid to start speaking.

"Uh," the kid started, flipping open his notebook. "Male driver, female passenger, both shot to death inside their vehicle."

"What else?" Provenza asked, noticing the female officer crouched down next to the driver's side. "Who is that?"

"She was-" the kid stuttered, when Provenza gave him a weary look. "She got here before you guys did. I thought she was one of you."

"Well she's not," Provenza said, stalking off.

This was their crime scene. Their crime scene, their bodies, their car – all of it was theirs. He wasn't going to let some woman from wherever she came from get in the middle of it. He wasn't going to have it taken over.

"This isn't a robbery," she said, righting herself up and turning around to face Provenza who she heard coming.

Provenza stopped, his mind reeling at a million miles a minute. This lady, woman, who beat them to it, was Sharon Raydor. Her husband was this lawyer that everyone wanted, but everyone hated when they had to come into work the next morning. It was common knowledge that the man was a drinker. So dealing with the boisterous lawyer after a night of drinking made everyone stand on edge. No one knew what he was going to do.

His wife frequented the magazines. He put serial killers in jail like it was no problem. He weaved the jury into his web, got them to believe anything that came out of his mouth and one night, years ago, he became a celebrity. By default so did she.

"If it wasn't a robbery then what was it?" Provenza quipped back.

"A murder, Lieutenant," she snipped in return.

Sharon Raydor made a circle of the car, taking in the fourteen bullet casings that surrounded the car, the entry points in the car and the number of bullets in the victim's themselves. From what she could see they were shot multiple times to the front and to the back of the head. There were burn marks on the holes in the window. It was personal yet the couple probably didn't know the shooter, or vice versa. Or both.

"Any witnesses?" Sharon asked.

Provenza turned and pointed at the patrol officer who was standing with Flynn. Provenza beckoned the kid with a crooked finger and pointed to the spot where he wanted him. Right in front of the Captain.

The kid, obediently, came. Nervous. Shaky. This was a murder. His first murder. He had his feet on the ground for a little over thirteen hours on his first official day as an officer. All he did was respond to a call.

"What's your name?" Sharon asked the boy as he stepped up to her.

"Buzz," the kid said quickly. "Watson. Officer Watson, ma'am."

"Buzz," she said, trying the name out. "Buzz what can you tell me about witnesses?"

"There were none," he replied quickly. Both the Captain and Lieutenant looked up at him with surprised looks. "I went and asked the neighbors, no one heard or saw anything."

"What about the woman who called it in?"

"She was just getting something from her car when she saw the body slumped over the wheel," Buzz filled in for her. "She didn't see anything either."

"Are there surveillance cameras?" Sharon asked, turning and directing the question to Provenza.

"Tao!" He yelled, earning the man who was currently kneeling and picking up the shell casings and putting them in an evidence bag.

Tao clicked his pen before standing.

"There's cameras, just pointed away," he said, using his pen as a pointer.

It was true; where the couple parked their car was out of the camera's peripheral. The same with the other camera on the other side.

"Not many people come up here," Tao pointed out. "No real need for cameras."

"Maybe our suspect knew where the cameras were and moved them," Sharon pointed out. "Let's talk to the building manager and find that out."

Tao nodded and began to walk away. Sharon turned and pointed to the bodies.

"Has this been documented?" she asked.

Provenza looked to Buzz who looked back at his superior officer who was on the phone.

"Don't look at Flynn," Provenza growled. "Did this get documented or not?"

When Buzz couldn't come up with an answer, Sharon held up her hand.

"Everybody stop!" Sharon yelled out, forcing everyone to stop dead in their tracks. "Someone please, do their job and get this documented."

When no one moved, because it wasn't anyone's job, Buzz dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Does it matter how it's documented?"

"Are you able to put that on a drive somewhere?" Buzz nodded at the Captain's question. "Then no. Thank you Buzz."

Sharon walked away from the scene and made her way to Lieutenant Flynn, who was hanging up the phone as she approached him.

When she came up to him she gave him a small smile and turned away.

"How's he doing?" Sharon asked, pointing to Buzz who was opening the door to the car.

"First murder," Andy shrugged. "We got here about forty minutes ago. Not much to tell you."

Eventually he would have to talk to her. It was a little over a month ago that he dropped off her drunken husband on her doorstep. It was a little over two months when he asked her out to the ballet; it was because his daughter had tickets, extra ones and he figured she would like them. It was completely innocent.

Andy had been a friend of the Raydor family for sometime. Their friendship started right after her first kid was born – unfortunately it was all over the papers. The press was in some sort of frenzy that their best lawyer to follow was falling off the map for a while to be a father. Not that it lasted; he was in the press two weeks after their daughter was born and Sharon was on his arm as the dutiful wife did.

"She just can't take over the case," Provenza growled at the Assistant Chief.

Everyone was getting some sort of promotion internally, recently. Pope became the King of LAPD and Taylor was his errand boy. His puppet. But regardless, Provenza still had to deal with him.

"She can, she did, and she is," Taylor said. "This is your department until we can find a replacement for the vacant spot, until then, she's the lead investigator and Senior Officer. Give her a break Provenza."

"If I don't?" Provenza challenged.

"She's still FID," Taylor shrugged. "She'll figure something out."

With that Taylor walked back down his normal hallway and disappeared on the other side of his glass door.

It was a little bit before Midnight when the team came back into their Murder Room. Sharon Raydor had a brown box, her hands full of evidence. Lot of little bags with clothing evidence, the victim's blood stained clothes, the bullet casings that were found on the floor around the car and the various photographs that Officer Watson had taken and printed.

Sharon checked her watch when she lowered herself on the corner of someone's desk. She rubbed her forehead. She promised her son she'd be home for dinner.

"Okay," Sharon said. "Run through it one more time."

No one said anything and no one really moved to tell her a thing. Everything she needed to know was staring back at her on their large whiteboard, the facts written in one color, the witness statements in another, and potential leads in another. No one had to say anything.

"Guys," Sharon groaned. "One more time. Let's go."

"A couple, male and female were both found shot dead in the car at approximately 9:05," Buzz said, standing up at his makeshift desk. He was still loading up the photos for the case. "Fourteen casings were found on the floor, broken glass indicates that the shooter shot through the window to get to the victims. The fourteen casings match the fourteen bullet holes that the victims had collectively."

"Thank you Buzz," Sharon nodded, before turning to everyone else. "Any leads on finding out how who these people are?"

"He works at a school," Andy said, pointing to the male. "The female, we had a possible lead, we're just waiting on the phone call."

"Anything from the M.E.?" Sharon asked.

"Our resident M.E. said that cause of death definitely was a gun shot wound to the head," Provenza said. "Took Buzz with me. Buzz, tell her what the good doctor said."

The young officer rolled his eyes but stood. Him and Flynn were still in their uniform, despite the order to change his clothes. If the kid didn't change his clothes, neither did Flynn. It was a thing.

"The other bullets were overkill," Buzz said. "It could be argued that the shooter targeted them, by the collection of bullets."

Sharon nodded, wrote the things Buzz said, and tucked the notepad under her. She let out a yawn, that she tried to cover her hand and shook her head before apologizing.

"Alright everyone," Sharon said, slipping off the desk. "Go home. If there's any leads we'll follow them in the morning."

"Uh Captain," Provenza called out. "We could follow up with the man's friends. See who the woman in the car with him was."

She shook her head. "That can wait 'til tomorrow. We're not going to ruin these people's evening with news that their friend is dead."

If they woke up the friends and the friends felt like something had to be hidden, there was a chance that they'd lawyer up. Which meant someone's husband; someone's wife would get woken up at home. She frequented the other side of that phone more often than she'd like. It was different when she was a cop, but a lawyer's wife – she just wanted to sleep through the night. Especially when she had her children to think about.

Her coat was on, her purse on her shoulder, her keys in her hand – she was getting ready to leave. As was the rest of the team when the phone rang. They had yet to set up a tip line, they had yet to set up anything really, and yet they already got a phone call.

Taylor had been down earlier to let her know that the press had gotten their hands on it. The murder had made the 11 o'clock news. The report was vague; the only information given out was what Taylor had given them. The more information they received, the more the press would. The press would get everything if they couldn't find who did this.

The phone silenced for a short time before ringing again. The phone rang and no one moved. Sharon sighed, knowing she was going to miss not only dinner, but also possibly breakfast now with her son. She checked her watched. Just after midnight now.

The phone rang and she dropped her purse, slipped off her coat, slung it on the back of the chair and reached for the phone. Someone had to answer.

* * *

New story. New world. All based on true events that happened a couple years ago in LA.

Read and Review. Let me know what you think!


	2. Tuesday

_Tuesday 0914 – 1055; 9:14am -10:55 am_

Case File 509865

Victims: Jane Montgrove, age 27

Paul Gambion, age 28

Sharon Raydor looked at the folder as she loaded the elevator first thing in the morning. It was just before nine in the morning and when her phone didn't ring with further follow-ups on the case, she went in. She wanted to get ahead, interview some friends and family of the victims, and get to know them better.

She rubbed her forehead, pinching her nose as she stepped off. Her son was up early, needing her to sign a slip so he could do something for school. It didn't matter that he was grown, but he was still young and it pleased her that he wanted to be safe. Her older kids wanted to be away from her. They couldn't wait to get out of the house.

There was a migraine starting to form; she hadn't had coffee and she didn't know if she could honestly stomach it. She had gotten little sleep and ate sometime around dinner. Maybe. She had a bag of chips when the father of the victim called and that was at midnight.

The victim's father, Mr. Montgrove, was a well-established Judge in LA and many people liked him. He had called when he saw his daughter's building on the news. He couldn't get a hold of her, she wasn't answering her phone and it was starting to worry him.

As a precaution they asked him to come in. They interviewed him and when certain things matched, Provenza and Tao took him down to the Morgue and had him identify the body of his daughter.

"Captain!" Tao yelled when she entered the murder room. "Ms. Montgrove was positively identified."

"And the fiancé?"

"His sister is coming in a few hours," Tao said.

Sharon nodded and slipped off her coat, draping it on the back of the chair and put her purse in the lower drawer, kicking it shut with her food.

The white board was full of facts, the beginning of a timeline and some notes underneath it. There was something they weren't seeing. She couldn't figure out what it was. There wasn't going – she shook her head and opened the files on her makeshift desk.

"Uh, Captain?" Buzz said, holding up the phone.

The team had come in slowly but surely, one at a time, as the morning progressed. Andy and Buzz had come in together, Provenza next followed by Sykes and Sanchez.

The younger detectives had been out canvassing the neighborhood one more time, trying to find someone who had heard something. Anything. They had come up with nothing. A lot of positive antidotes about how cute the couple was, how lovely they were together, and much more of the same.

Sharon had her head in a stack of files when Buzz called her. She was finishing up a note and looked up at him. He had the phone in his hand, hopefully on hold with whoever was on the other line.

"What is it Buzz?"

"We've got an Officer downstairs with a box of police equipment," he said. "What do we do with it?"

"Have them bring it up," Sharon ordered. Buzz nodded and put his phone back to his ear. "Buzz wait. Ask him if it pertains to our case."

Buzz turned away from Sharon. Provenza was giving her a look that was a mixture of inquiry and confusion.

The box was unceremoniously dropped on Sharon's desk. When she looked up it was Flynn who was standing with it. He looked tired, as they all did, but he was training and training meant no sleep. He couldn't drink, not anymore, so he couldn't force himself to sleep. It was a combination of stress, guilt, and his mind working a million miles a minute that kept him up. Buzz was on call, therefor so was he.

"Why would someone need a steal plate bullet vest?" Sharon questioned, holding up the plated vest. "This was all just dumped?"

"The shop owner found it behind his dumpster ma'am," Julio said. "There are also two AR-15 magazine pouches, two mortar tube containers, but empty and two military styled ammo cans."

"Who would need all of these things?" Sharon questioned. "And why?"

It was question no one could answer. The shop owner flagged down the first cop and they called it in. No one was missing anything; at least they hadn't heard anything.

"There were also these notebooks," Julio said, holding up the standard issue field notebooks every officer had been issued.

Neat block writing covered the front. JOHN BURKE, 56432

Another had block writing, just as neat reading: JOY WILLIAMS 53583

"Burke isn't in the system but Williams is," Julio said, continuing on. "She's one of the Field Sergeants, ma'am."

"Is she in the building?"

"On her way up," Julio confirmed.

Joy Williams was a good cop. She was one of the best trainers the LAPD had. She was on maternity leave the last few months and was back for her first day. When she left the force, to have her child, it was up in the air whether or not she'd have a job when she came back.

"Ms. Williams," Sharon started. "Joy."

"Captain," Joy said plainly. She had a history with FID. Just before she found out she was pregnant she had been censured. Sharon was her investigator. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Have you had any of your equipment stolen from you lately?" Sharon began. "We recently came across some."

"No," she said. "I mean I just got back but I have everything. I checked this morning when I came in."

"Does the name John Burke ring a bell?"

The woman stiffened. She looked from the ground to the Captain and to the Detectives who were with her.

"Burke?" she asked, as if she didn't hear her right. "What about him?"

"We found his notebook with the equipment," Sharon said.

"I haven't seen him in almost a year," Joy said. "I – he – we were doing field tests when he broke down. Yelling and screaming. Next thing I know I'm getting called into your office for a censure."

"He claimed you kicked a suspect and was using your superiority to get him into bed."

"Yes." She nodded.

Sharon wrote a note on her pad, clicked her pen, and then sat it down. This was territory that she had to tread in carefully She wasn't able to talk about the case because it was still in the system. It would be in the system for sometime, even though it was considered closed. Sharon still worked for FID, she was still leading the IA team and she – there was no way she could get involved.

They released her with an officer tailing her. They escorted her back to work and when she left to go home, they'd follow her home.

"She's in the manifesto," Andy whispered in her ear, lowly. "The one we pulled from the social media site, she's in it."

Sharon nodded and took a deep breath. "Who else?"

"You're not going to like it," he said.

Buzz had been pouring over it while Sharon talked to Williams. He highlighted the names the author had personally attacked; claiming he was coming after them. He highlighted the acts of violence that the author promised. None of it was good.

The author told everyone what to do. From the LAPD, Journalists, his friend's and family – they all had jobs to do, dictated in this manifesto. He had issues with Internal Affairs, but didn't all cops, she mused. He blamed his problems, the future and past killings that may or may not occur on the LAPD.

"Get a protection detail on everyone," Sharon ordered. "Get me Taylor, get me Pope and get me the head of SOB, now."

She spun out of her little bubble, grabbing her coat off the back of the chair and slipping it on in an impressive swoop. She was making her way to the elevators which would lead her to the top floor and from the top floor she would go to the roof to breath.

Another detail. Another series of late nights that involved full sweeps at three in the morning.

"Sharon wait," Andy said, reaching out and grabbing onto her wrist. "Hey. Talk to me for a second, will you?"

"I don't have a second Andy," she said, gasping for air. "I don't-"

The elevator bell thrilled, the doors slid open and he shoved her in. He had to get her out into the air. She was starting to panic.

Sharon Raydor, by name was in the manifesto. Her husband represented Burke. Or were friends with Burke. She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember whether or not Jack brought up this man's name or if she was getting caught up in the sudden hysteria her mind created for her. Either way she couldn't remember.

Andy took her out through the lobby of the PAB. He took her down and around the corner where there was construction. The sound of construction, he knew would over power whatever it was that was going through her head.

He cupped her face, his fingers brushing her cheek. He forced the hair away from her face as she struggled to breath. This was so unlike her. She was normally put together. This panic that she has is a rarity.

"Sharon you got to look at me," Andy pleaded. "Look at me."

Wide eyes met his. They were beginning to water. Her chest wasn't heaving, which meant she was starting to breath better. He gave her a small smile as he loosened his grip on her arm. She took a shuttered breath and swallowed hard.

"This can't be happening again," she said carefully. "I can't have more officers at my door."

"This is for your safety," he said. "The same way it was the last time."

She adopted her third son. That was common knowledge. The kid was a witness in a murder investigation, needed a roof and she offered hers. It was her decision, not her husbands to adopt the kid, which was why it wasn't all over the press. It was quietly done with no pomp and circumstance. One day she had two kids and the next she had three.

Due to her third son being a witness, it meant people knew about him, knew of him, knew he saw things he shouldn't have seen. One night, her son had received an anonymous letter; they thought nothing of it. It wasn't threatening, until the second one came, and then the third, fourth and fifth. It was months before Sharon felt comfortable again; her son had a protective detail on him twenty four-seven. Armed guards stood outside her apartment when they were in for the night.

She lamented frequently about how much she hated it. How much they just wanted to find the guy and put a stop to it. The letters stopped when a body wrapped up in plastic showed up, practically at LAPD's front door. The case is considered unsolved.

"He's not going to like it." Sharon pointed out. "He's going to want to run."

"If he does, he'll have his detail," Andy pointed out. It made her laugh. It was a start.

A man, dressed in plain clothes, was standing in front of the building with his thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his pockets. Sharon stumbled, Andy catching her with a firm press of his hand to her lower back. Then a flash of recognition crossed her eyes and she let out the breath she was holding.

"You pulled the short straw?" Sharon questioned, stepping up to the officer.

"I pulled the only straw, ma'am," the man said, nodding to her. "Lieutenant."

"Cooper," Andy said, taking the door from Sharon's new bodyguard.

Cooper was familiar with the Raydor family. He had spent many hours hanging out with the family when the opportunity arose. The kid's birthday, a night out into the city, whatever and wherever the kid went, Cooper did too.

It was going to be the same now with the Captain. He wasn't going to be able to leave her alone. Not when a mandatory security detail had been configured in record time.

"You have the Deputy Chief in your office," Provenza said, pointing to the room with the windows.

She hadn't declared that her office. She wasn't comfortable with it. It wasn't going to be hers because once this, whatever it was, died down, she'd go back to her floor.

"I'll be out here," Cooper mentioned, taking a seat in her chair.

Sharon nodded and gave Andy a look. She wouldn't deny that she was scared. She was terrified. Someone, per the manifesto, would be always watching her, that there would be no safety. Not for her, not for her family – never.

It would be a logistical nightmare to get all three of her children under one roof. It was assumed, albeit not one hundred percent confirmed, that their suspect was acting on his own accord. There was no real need for her to board her children onto planes if the suspect hadn't left the state yet.

They had to take every pre-caution. Names of highly respected officers of the LAPD, of the city, of the country, were in this manifesto. Special Operations was involved to make sure that the officers on the details carried out their duties to the letter. There would be no other fatalities. They couldn't afford it.

"If we release her name," Sharon began. "Or if we release their names with a reward, would that give you more work?"

"It could," Deputy Chief Howard nodded. "But I think it would be best to release their names with the details as vague as possible."

"What about her father?"

"The Judge has a detail," Howard confirmed. "No one is allowed in or out of his chambers, home, or work place without it being properly checked. He's one of the important protected."

Sharon nodded. She was on that list as well, but the Chief didn't need to elaborate on it. She knew it. Or else she wouldn't have had Cooper waiting for her outside of the building.

Prepared to question the Chief about the gear, she saw her son stepping into the room, despair in his eyes.

"Excuse me," Sharon said, standing quickly and going to the door.

She stepped out into the murder room, her son searching for her. When he saw her he dropped his bag and lunged at her. Both arms came around her shoulders and he buried his face in her neck.

"Rusty," Sharon sighed into his ear.

He let go and took a half step back. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and cupped his cheek.

"Sharon what the hell is going on?" He questioned. "You come home late and then I'm being personally escorted out of class by this guy and him?"

'This guy' was Detective Sanchez. 'Him' was what she could only assume was his new bodyguard.

"It's about this case I'm working," Sharon said. "We came across something that granted need for emergency protection."

"Emergency Protection?" Rusty questioned. "Sharon I just got into College. I don't want-"

"I don't have a say in it this time Rusty," Sharon said, her tone apologetic. "We have no choice."

He huffed and turned.

"Six month, Sharon," Rusty said. "Six months we've gone with out someone at our door."

"I know."

"I was finally able to go to class without someone at the door waiting for me when I got out."

"I know."

"And it's nice to not be followed when I'm driving."

"Rusty," Sharon tried. "I know. I understand. Believe me I do."

Sharon sent Rusty to the break room to get something to eat while she finished with SOB. They'd dispatch more feet on the ground to search the areas declared in the manifesto.

Through a friend of a friend, the names of the victim's were publicly released online. In the news it would be announced right after the lunch hour, and again around dinnertime and then close to midnight. In the morning it would be one of the top stories in the paper.

So much information, with still so little to go on, and it was only eleven in the morning.

* * *

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those who reviewed. Thank you to those who favorited and followed this story. It means a lot to me.

Keep it up and I'll be back in a couple days with a new update.


	3. Wednesday

_Wednesday; 0500-2200; 5:00am – 10pm_

 _CF: 509865_

 _Victims: Jane Montgrove, age 27_

 _Paul Gambion, age 28_

 _Cause of Death: GSW, 9mm._

Before dawn the city of Los Angeles was relaxed. The traffic had yet to become atrocious. There weren't families under the surveillance of LAPD. They hadn't had their homes turned into safe houses, their curtains hadn't been closed, the locks changed, windows locked.

Sharon Raydor smiled at the desk sergeant as she stepped into the lobby with her officers. She stepped into the elevator, the only sense of relief that she had. There would be two other officers waiting for her when the elevator doors opened. Whether she liked it or not, with a room full of full trained detectives, she still had security.

It put her on edge that Rusty didn't. It was explained to her that she was the target and not her son. She argued that her family was in that manifesto and that her son was her family. Taylor gave in and assigned Cooper to Rusty's team, seeing as the boy and the man had worked together once before. It have her a sense of relief, but not enough. She wanted him to stay safe. He had to be safe.

The bell thrilled and the doors slid open. The detail, as expected were waiting. They would follow her, but they would be at arms distance when they stepped into the murder room. One would be posted at one door and another at the second door if she was in her office.

Andrew Flynn was one of those people who had to work. If he didn't work he wanted to drink. If he wanted to drink he wanted not just one drink but many drinks. He wanted to drown in alcohol to get his mind off the dead bodies. There was a time when he substituted alcohol with sex and then sex became a necessity to get through the day. Like coffee. He had to have his fill. Then there was nothing. No alcohol, no sex, and he became a different man.

Some said the change happened over night. Some couldn't tell the difference. It didn't matter. He knew it happened and that was all that mattered.

"Yeah, thanks," Andy was saying when Sharon stepped into the room.

He was making a note of the gear that had been recently retrieved. How someone could get his or her hands on police gear was beyond him. Either there was a traitor in the force or there was a bitter ex-cop roaming the streets.

The writing ceased when he heard the familiar clicks of heels behind him. He turned ever so slightly, looking over his shoulder.

"Listen to this," Andy said, stopping her. "Called down to evidence about the gear. We've got more coming."

"What?" Sharon asked, coming up behind him and looking over his shoulder.

In his messy handwriting he had scrawled out the additional gear that was coming to them.

"If anything," she said, sighing. "We might be able to hold him, when we find him, if we do, on just the baton."

"What makes you say that?"

Sharon turned, stopping in the door –frame. "He was issued the baton when he was a cop. Now that he's not, he's no longer permitted to carry it. We could get him purely on carrying a prohibited weapon."

Andy smiled. Of course she'd find that loophole in a matter of seconds. It helped that she made the rules.

The equipment came in and search warrants had been created to search and seize any potential weapons if the officers found it. It was for his mother and his sister. It was unknown if Burke was in communication with his mother, but Sharon sent officers to their residences anyway. As a precaution.

A small list of targets had been created. It was how Sharon and a few others had been put under surveillance. Taylor had shut down the mandated teams that Sharon had ordered. He agreed that the few she named, her included, should be protected but beyond that, there was no real cause to have them protected. It cost too much money and they couldn't lose that much manpower.

Sharon had taken it upon herself to call the Judge in. She apologized for taking him out his home in a moment like this. She wanted to ask him a few questions about Burke if he was available. The man had said nothing and then bid Sharon a good day.

"Captain," Julio said, knocking on the door. "Judge Montgrove is here to see you."

Sharon looked up through the blinds of her office and low and behold, the Judge was there. His coat slung over his arm, a black and white officer standing behind him. It was customary to have visitors escorted like that.

"Your Honor," Sharon said stepping out of her office.

The Honorable Montgrove turned and gave Sharon a small smile. Her husband had him from time to time in court and would come home, when he came home and did nothing but praise the man. Sharon herself had spent some time in his courtrooms. The Judge was fair. He did what was right. It was a tragedy that his daughter, weeks after her recent engagement, was taken from him so violently. His wife had died a few years ago from cancer. They were all each other had.

"Thank you so much for coming in," Sharon said, offering the seat across the desk.

When the man lowered himself into it, Sharon took the opportunity to sit herself.

"Have you found who did this?" the Judge asked.

Sharon shook her head. "No. But we have a potential lead. Judge, what can you tell me about Burke?"

"Burke?" The Judge questioned. "John Burke was crazy. I was the last Judge he had. He didn't present the evidence that was needed to convict the client and I declared a mistrial."

"Did he say anything to you after the trial?" Sharon questioned, writing in clipped notes what the judge had said. She would want to pull the case later.

"Not after the trial, no, but he came to me the morning after he was fired." The Judge informed her. "He was irate and red in the face. I had business across the street and somehow he found me."

Sharon nodded and continued to write.

"Did he threaten you?" Sharon asked. "Threaten your daughter?"

The Judge shook his head. Andy knocking on the window pulled Sharon's attention. He was holding up a list from what she could make out. Sharon gave him a singular nod and then stood.

"Thank you for coming in," Sharon said, offering her hand to the Judge. "If there's anything else we can do, please let me know."

She took a card off her desk and handed it to him.

"Find who did this Captain," The Judge said.

"Of course." She nodded.

Sharon let the Judge out and pointed at Julio to follow him. She checked her watch. It was just after 2.

Andy was approaching her quickly. She took in the room and realized that the room was empty. Except for them. Provenza was missing. Tao was missing. Andy's training officer was gone too.

"You're wanted downstairs." Andy said.

"Why?"

"Let's just go," Andy said, providing no other information.

The silence on the ride down the four floors was unbearable. Andy, she realized, stood taller than normal. The sheet of paper in his hands had been folded and held in his hand. It was what got her attention.

The doors opened and they stepped out. He grabbed her hand, the last moment of peace. The last moment of quiet that either one of them were going to receive. The woman was going to break. He knew it. One day, maybe not today, but soon she was going to break.

"Whatever happens in there," he started and then stopped. He swallowed. "Whatever happens, I'm here. If you need me."

"Andy what-"

He reached over and opened the door that would lead to Robbery Homicide. He was feeding her to the wolves. Her life as she knew it was over.

What came next was a whirlwind. Taylor brought Raydor in and sat her down. Names on index cards were placed on a corkboard in order of importance. Pope was at the top; Raydor below him and the other Sergeants, Captains, Commanders and whoever else was in the manifesto followed. Thirty names on the board. Thirty people needed protection.

The protected would receive what was called a "Scarecrow Detail". The Detail would consist of two uniformed officers who were visible at all times. Their shifts would be twelve hours and they'd rotate out. They would be driven to and from their homes from work, from the grocery store; wherever they went it didn't matter.

Sharon nodded at everything Taylor threw at her. She gave permission to Rusty having protection, yet denied her other children. She attempted to make a mental note to call Ricky and tell him to take the first plane to New York. They didn't know where this man was, the author of the manifesto was, but she didn't want to take chances.

"Is there anything you need to do here?" Taylor asked, snapping Sharon out of her thought process.

"I'm sorry?"

"What else do you have to do here?" Taylor asked.

She was looking at the cards on the board. Some she knew. Some she didn't. One name stuck out in particular. E. Montgrove.

"The Judge," she whispered, her heart sinking immediately. "The Judge. I just – he's downstairs."

"What?" Taylor questioned.

"Montgrove," she pointed. "The victim's father. He was in my office five minutes ago. I sent Julio downstairs with him.

"Get him up here now!" Taylor hollered at the room.

Two hundred men and women were dispatched to all over the state. There was not enough time to deal with the jurisdictional problems. They'd clean it up later.

Sharon was escorted to her office where she retrieved her purse and her coat. She was not allowed to take any files with her. Andy was retrieving his things as well, she noticed when she stepped out of the office.

He gave her a singular nod and fell in with the uniformed officers as they loaded the elevator. The team of two doubled in a matter of minutes. She was boxed in. Escorted to her car where she was forced to hand over her keys to one of the officers. Effortlessly, Andy took them and pointed to the other squad car, dismissing them. He knew they would follow.

"Andy what are you doing?" she asked as he started the car. He pulled out of the spot and got out of the structure before he spoke.

"I'm leading the team," he said. "Taylor gave me the okay. Buzz will be your driver. The black and whites are your security. You're going to one of the most protected civilians in LA."

"I don't understand," she said. "Why?"

"He's going to come after you," Andy said plain and simple. "He claims its your fault that he got fired. You didn't see things his way. You don't understand what he went through."

"I don't _remember_ ," she sighed. "That was – he was- it doesn't make sense."

"None of it does," Andy agreed.

He pulled onto the freeway that would lead them to her apartment. He hit her lights and the siren and watched as the cars pulled over. In the rearview mirror he saw that the patrol car did the same.

Sharon wasn't allowed into her apartment. Instead she was forced to wait in the hallway as the black and whites did a round in her home, checking the rooms before giving it an all clear. One would stand at her door, the other at the elevator, and two in their car down in the parking lot.

It was sometime near five when Andy's phone rang. Sharon was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Rusty had called her, begged her to allow him to stay at school so he could finish a project – he would be home soon. She made him, in turn, promise not to slip the detail. He wouldn't.

Andy spoke in a low voice. He was pacing her living room, which made her nervous the longer he did it. When he hung up he went to her window and drew the blinds, flipping on the living room light. He locked the doors, all of them. Then the banging on the door came. He pointed to Sharon and then to the hallway that would lead to her bedroom.

His finger rested lightly on the trigger. The safety was clicked off. He turned the knob to her door, slowly, carefully, and then yanked it open, pointing it at the intruder.

"Shit kid," Andy cursed at Rusty who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Where's your detail?"

"I was escorted up by Sharon's." He explained. "They made sure I got on and off. Just like before."

Andy nodded and pulled the kid in. Sharon, having heard them, came out and immediately took Rusty in her arms.

"What is going on?" he asked. It was the question that was on a lot of people's mind. No one knew, because no one had a good answer.

"It's going to be okay," she promised.

Sharon went about her evening as if she wasn't being guarded. Andy set up a small command center on her desk. It was set up with a phone that would be called in the case of an emergency, a computer that was going to be sent emails pertaining to the case and Sharon's protection. He was staying there. A makeshift bed was created on her couch. His back was going to hate him later, but he didn't care.

"I'm going to be up for a bit," Sharon said, cradling her cup of tea. "Go get some rest in a real bed."

"I'm okay," Andy promised. "It'll be fine."

"Andy," Sharon sighed. Her head had been pounding. The migraine finally making itself known.

"Sharon. If anything I'll kick the kid out of his bed. I'm not going to do that to you."

She nodded and shrugged. "This is such a mess."

Andy said nothing. He simply nodded and turned away from her, lowering herself at the desk. He clicked a few keys, brought the computer to life and checked on things at the office.

It was just after 11:30 p.m. when Andy received the call that a man had been attacked. The call was sent to Robbery Homicide about an hour earlier– a team of officers were sent to investigate. The report would be on the Captain's desk in the morning. There was a possibility that it was connected.

Andy stretched, his back cracking. He groaned as he made his round of the apartment. There wasn't much to check. Just Sharon in her room, the kid in his, and the lock on the windows and doors. He had heard the water in her bathroom turn on and off. The door was cracked, a faint light filtering in and he saw the sleeping form of Sharon in her bed.

A light from underneath Rusty's door led Andy to believe that the kid was still up. Probably playing chess, watching a movie or doing homework. He'd make a note of when the light turned off.

Andy relaxed on the couch, turning the television on, lowering the volume. He settled himself in for the evening and the first night of a multi-city wide security watch.

* * *

Thank you so much for those of you who have found this and are following it. Leave a review and let me know what you think! Or send me a PM and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


	4. Thursday Morning

_Thursday; 0120 - 1030; 1:20am – 10:30am_

 _CF: 509865_

 _Victims: Jane Montgrove, age 27_

 _Paul Gambion, age 28_

 _Cause of Death: GSW, 9mm._

 _Possible suspect: John Burke, armed and dangerous, proceed with caution_

It was the fact that Sharon Raydor was paralyzed in her living room as the bullets flew around her. They were coming from everywhere. The windows, within the walls, the front door had flown open and she was rooted to her spot. She couldn't move. Rusty was asleep in his room. Andy was asleep on the couch. She was paralyzed. Unable to call out for help. Her voice was gone, the sounds of the bullets being fired overpowering anything.

She figured then that one would hit her. Her children would be motherless and they would chalk it up to being the children of an LAPD officer. When her oldest were young and she had to leave in the middle of dinner, she told them she would come home. As they got older she explained the possibilities of her not returning and what would happen to them. Now that all three were adults, they would come together and be on their own. They would survive.

Her husband had called. It was what initially woke her and forced her down the hallway into the kitchen to retrieve her phone. She couldn't remember leaving it there. She never left it there. Always, she plugged it in before she went into her bathroom to wash her face before she went to bed. The shrill ringing of it woke her. It lured her out. She was reaching for it when the firing began.

Prayer came to her. Asking for forgiveness for the sins she had committed since her last confession. It wasn't the same as walking into the church, having a conversation with the Priest, but what could be more cleansing than talking to God himself? Especially in a time of despair and anguish. The only person who could save her was him. She slipped her eyes close, her mouth opening ever so slightly when the bullet connected.

Sharon Raydor gasped, bolting upright in bed. Her skin slick with sweat. Hovering above her, a glowing phone in his hand was Andy. She reached for her glasses, slipped them on and the red numbers on her clock focused. It was just after one in the morning. She had just gone to bed a few hours ago.

"You okay?" He asked. "You were thrashing pretty good."

"Nightmare," she said honestly, but not offering any other details. "Why are you up?"

"Provenza," he said holding up the phone. "There's been a shooting."

It killed her to wake up Rusty. The boy groaned, rubbing his face, blocking his eyes from the light. There would be an officer at the door all night, for the rest of it. When he woke he was to go downtown where he would wait for her if she was out. She told him she loved him and she left her home with Andy in tow.

"Hold on a second." Andy said, pulling her into the stairwell.

A uniformed officer, the one that would be following her for the rest of the day, came too. Andy was annoyed, but understood.

"I'm not going to take her down the stairs," Andy promised. "Let me just talk to her, will you?"

"I'll be on the other side," the officer informed him.

When the officer left, Andy turned to Sharon and his arm was barely open before she enveloped herself in him. The warmth. The familiarity. She needed a piece of something before she walked out into the world of despair and anguish. On a drunken rampage he told her one time he loved her. Whether or not it was because he was prompted, she didn't know. But she took it. She accepted it.

"Just –" she swallowed. Tears began to form in her eyes.

The hard FID agent was starting to fall. She was too wrapped up in the pieces of this case. She was used to being on the outside looking in, not the other way around. Her job was to be open minded, to let the facts speak for themselves. It was only the fourth day and she wanted to bury herself. How could they deal with this every day of their lives?

"If this escalates," Sharon began. "I might – I'm not going to be pleasant."

"I understand."

"I might need you to yell at me," she said. He could do that. He did that very well.

"Okay."

"I might need you to call me names." She said. "I might need you to just –"

He cupped her face in his palm, his thumb brushing her jaw. "We'll get there when we get there."

The woman had a huge heart. She was raised to be accepting of everyone, no matter where they came from, no matter who they were – she had to accept them for who they are and nothing more and nothing less. Good or bad, she found a way to accept them. She had friends on that list of thirty. She had enemies, but they were all family and by god if she wouldn't fight for them.

It pained him to see her stiffen in the car when he told her about the twenty four year old who had been grazed by their suspect. It nearly floored him when he saw her face go white when he told her that a man who they both admired, were friends with was dead. They were friends with his wife. They had a three year old and another son who had just graduated high school and was going to follow in his father's footsteps and join the Marines.

"They want you to lead the Officer involved shooting." Andy said carefully. "Provenza wanted me to give you a heads up."

She took a deep breath and nodded. She pinched the bridge of her nose and willed the tears away. The car remained silent as Andy drove to the intersection where the crime took place. Where their friend had been murdered and per FID rules and regulations, where their friend would still be.

Sharon Raydor the person was different from Sharon Raydor the Captain of FID. Andy liked Sharon Raydor the person a lot more than the Captain but that was because he knew her better. Her staff knew the Captain better than anyone. It was extraordinary to watch her transform right in front of him. Sharon Raydor, the mother of three was the one curling out of the car but Sharon Raydor, the Captain of FID was the one marching towards the officers and the vehicles.

"…three witnesses saw the same thing. Guy pulled up into the intersection and opened fired."

The thing about the intersection was that the probability of having a car accident here was higher than any other intersection in the immediate area. It was a horrendous place to make any sort of turns. The turns were wide and quick. The lights changed faster than anyone really could realize it was their turn to go. Twelve lanes, 6 different points in the intersection.

"Get him out of here," Sharon said pointing to the car that once belonged to her friend. She had seen what she needed. "Get me whoever is in charge."

The patrol officer nodded and ran to the Command Center that had been set up at the end of the block. All six points were blocked off halfway down. No one could get in unless they were needed, no one could get out if they lived close by. It was shut down and locked in.

Thirteen armor-piercing casings were found on the ground. It matched the witness statements, which were the man leaned out of his window, fired at the patrol car and then sped off. Sharon was writing in her notebook, the little black one she kept in the glove box of her car, when she felt a hand on her back.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" She snapped, turning around.

"Morales is here," he said, pointing to the M.E. who was in the back of the ambulance with the victim.

To say the man wasn't loved was a fabrication. If it got Fernando Morales out of bed at almost two a.m. it meant something. Normally he sent someone else and met them at the morgue.

"Doctor," Sharon greeted quietly to the man who looked just as ragged as she felt. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Heard you were running the show," he shrugged. "Figured I would lend my expertise. Give you some answers on your bullets."

He didn't touch the sheet that was draped over the body. The man was still dressed in his black and whites, the shoes poking out from the edge was the tell tale sign. He pointed as he spoke.

"Seven bullets entered the body," Morales began. "Two in the shoulder, three in the thigh and leg, one severed his artery and the other went through his badge, bypassing the vest and straight to his heart."

"He died immediately," her voice coming out as a whisper.

"If not immediately," Morales said. "Painlessly and quick."

Sharon nodded and shook her head. She wrote the information down, clicked her pen and nodded at the doctor. "Thank you."

Sharon signaled to the driver of the ambulance to roll out. They needed to get him out of there. They needed to make him presentable for his wife who they would have to be calling soon.

She was trying to replay the scene in her head. The patrol car pulls up at the light, it's red – on the opposite side the suspect pulls up, stops and then crawls into the intersection slowly and opens fires as he does. There were three other vehicles, according to the Patrol's notes. One chased after him before turning back and returning to the scene. Another was a driver who had called in the event. The third was a young kid who had been out and driving home.

"Do we have a description of the guy?" Sharon asked anyone who was around her.

"Tall, I don't know, six foot." Andy shrugged. "Dark hair."

Sharon turned and gave him a questioning look. She didn't need him playing games with her. She wanted straightforward answers.

"I don't have time –"

"It's in the statement from a guy at the scene," Andy said. "Calm down."

He dropped the file on the hood of the car. She would be collecting a lot of those. It was her job to connect the pieces of the puzzle and give the Chief of Police a clear picture.

She looked up and sighed. There was really nothing else she could do. She looked around for Andy. He was just there. Instead she saw Buzz. He was walking towards her, the keys to her car in his hand.

"Ma'am," he nodded. Sharon gave the young officer a small smile and looked around one more time.

Andy told her Buzz would be her driver. The only reason Andy drove her there this morning was because he was on her couch. He was available.

"Did Lieutenant Flynn have something else he'd rather be doing?" Sharon asked as she slipped into the car.

"Not sure," Buzz said. "He called me about ten minutes ago and told me to get here. Took my car back to the office I'd imagine."

He distanced himself because of what would happen. They would blow up at each other in the middle of the murder room. She was still FID, she was still running the officer involved shooting but she was also now investigating the murder of a friend. A fellow officer.

She hoped that he didn't distance himself to give her space. She hated space. She also hated to feel confined but being backed into a corner forced her to think. It forced her to breath.

It was when they were young and stupid; Andy had her pressed up against the wall. In a corner, she had her back against the wall, both physically and mentally; she was losing her mind. She had shot someone and she spent more time at the bottom of a bottle with him than at home with her toddler. His hands were on either side of her head boxing her in. He gave her three choices, to drink, to have sex, or to go home and get some rest.

She didn't speak to him for three months. It was – she wanted all of it. Everything he offered. She just couldn't bring herself to it. She stopped drinking for a while after that. Water or juice, tea or coffee, nothing else and nothing more. She detoxed herself of him, of the ferment, and for three months she went to therapy, spent time with her child and at the end of the next year announced she was pregnant again.

"Ma'am," she heard faintly. "Captain."

She let out a small gasp, her face turning to Buzz who was calling out to her. She blinked and he pointed.

"We're here."

In the parking lot of the PAB building she noticed her guards. The officer who would ride up to the Major Crimes Floor and hand her off to the other officer who would be waiting.

She had spent the better part of her morning going over her notes, going over the statements, writing out what corresponded with what and began to create an outline of events. It was ten minutes prior that another officer had been shot at. His head had been grazed. He was sent to Cedars and listed as Critical. The other officer who was in the intersection shooting was in surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder and chest – both not hitting any arteries. They would be considered superficial wounds at best.

It was just after five when the phones, all of them started going off. Her phone included and then her cellphone. Rusty's name appeared as the Caller I.D. and her heart sank, her pulse raced and she stood from her desk.

"Rusty?" Sharon questioned and the worst feeling filled her. She could hear the gunshots in the background.

"Mom?" he heard. "Sharon can you hear me?"

"Rusty?" she yelled into her phone. "Rus-"

She swung open the door and held up her phone. Someone, she couldn't tell who followed her in. She pointed to her ringing desk phone and whoever it was answered it. The low vibrato had her turning. It was Flynn. She hadn't seen him all morning and now here he was.

"Rusty, can you hear me?" she repeated. "Rusty."

When her son didn't answer her, her heart sunk further into her chest. She felt the tap on her shoulder and turned. Andy had written her a note and was still writing.

'SHOOTING ON BLOCK-POSSIBLE SIGHTING OF TRUCK' was written in Andy's block writing.

As he listened and Sharon kept her cell to her ear, she watched as he wrote, scribbled, nodded and wrote some more. He scratched out the truck sighting and wrote 'Newspaper delivery. False Alarm.'

The phone at her ear beeped. She stared at it. She began to think the worse and her mind was reeling in it until the desk phone rang. She lunged for it, answering it with a single breath.

"Rusty."

"Mom," he sighed. "Sharon there was a shooting and I'm-"

It was garbled. They were getting on the elevator. Rushed in and out of the shaft. He was being put into a car, driven straight to Headquarters.

"What?"

"I'm in the car," she heard him say. "Sharon are you – what's going on?"

"He shot people this morning," Sharon said. "When I left I had to go to a scene."

"Damn," Rusty commented. "Listen Sharon. I have to give Brody his phone back but I'll be there in like ten minutes."

 _Five_ , she mentally corrected but yes. Soon. He was going to be there soon. And when he arrived finally he was set up in her office. He followed her wherever she went. Once in a while she reached out and took his hand, her heart still racing.

She took Rusty to breakfast, with her detail of course, at a little place down the street. Nothing fancy. She just wanted out. She wanted to clear her mind just a bit.

"What do we know about the women and the man?" Sharon questioned the team in front of her.

"The newspaper delivery was at the end of the block ma'am, when they noticed the open police car. The officers saw the truck and open fired. The same with the man. He was told to turn around by one car and then blindsided by another and was open fired on, ma'am."

"Get those officers in here, please, Detective Sanchez." Sharon ordered and the man nodded, standing and going.

For the rest of the morning, they answered phone calls, possible tips and sighting of this man who they couldn't really identify. The grainy security footage from the docks hadn't helped. The photos from the ATM machines he had walked by didn't help either; he was wearing a hood. They needed to be face to face with him to know who it was.

A knock at Sharon's office door had her looking up from the small stack of paperwork she had begun filling out. It was Andy. He came in and sunk down into her chair.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"No," he said smartly, waving at her and her paperwork. "You're fine."

She rolled her eyes and went back to it. Yes, she isolated herself in the office all morning with the blinds pulled. Yes she had sent Rusty back to the apartment where she had officers hanging out with him inside. He argued, wanted to go to school, but she wouldn't allow it. She couldn't risk it.

"Catherine is on her way up." Andy mentioned, stopping her completely. "She called about fifteen minutes ago."

"Thank you." She said nodding and picking up her jacket off the back of her chair.

She stopped and hesitated at the edge of her desk. Confirming to this woman that her husband was indeed dead was something she hated doing. Telling the victim's family wasn't any easier than seeing the dead body in person. She figured that her telling them the news was killing a small part of them. Slowly it would eat away at them until there was nothing less.

Catherine Johnson was a tall woman. Her red hair was curled down her back, her green eyes glossed over with tears and lined in red. On her hip was the three year old that her husband wouldn't stop gushing over. The boy had his face buried in his mother's neck.

"Sharon," the woman sighed. "Is it true?"

"Catherine why don't we go into my office," Sharon offered with her hand extended.

Amy stood and offered to take the boy. Catherine hesitantly gave Amy Sykes a look and when Sharon inclined her head and nodded, the red head gave her son over. The boy whimpered, by Amy, as calm and cool as she was got the boy to warm up to her quickly.

Just after ten in the morning, Sharon was still in with Catherine Johnson and Mike Tao's landline rang. It was his son Kevin. Him and some friends were hiking in Griffith Park. A truck was on fire. It fit the size of the truck they were looking for.

Mike got Provenza and Flynn's attention. It caught Sharon's attention too, but she didn't do anything. She'd find out later.

It was a lead.

* * *

Thank you to the reviews and follows! I truly appreciate it! Keep them coming!


	5. Thursday Night - Friday

_Thursday; 1030 – 0000; Friday; 0000-0000; 10:30 am – 12:00pm; 12:00pm-12:00am_

 _ **CF: 509865**_

 _Victims: Jane Montgrove, age 27_

 _Paul Gambion, age 28_

 _Cause of Death: GSW, 9mm._

 _Possible suspect: John Burke, armed and dangerous, proceed with caution_

 _ **CF: 509865-A**_

 _Victim: Brett Johnson; age 39_

 _Cause of Death: GSW; AR15_

 _Suspect: John Burke, armed and dangerous, proceed with caution._

The radio in the car was going non-stop. Andy pulled onto the 1-5 freeway, speeding down the right lane. Sharon was in the passenger seat, the phone pressed to her ear. She had Rusty stay at the office, surrounded by TAC officers who were roaming the halls. They were apart of the Training, Advising and Counsel team; there was a conglomeration of officers on the top floor who met daily on this case.

Sharon was going through her notes, the write-ups from the department psychologist who did a brief read on their suspect. Controlling, manipulative, charming were words that he used in his report. Controlling, yes. She could see that. She wanted the city to worry. She wanted them to be on high alert. Unfortunately for him, them being on high alert, meant it would be harder for him to come out of hiding and shooting someone else. Or at least that's what she hoped.

It took them ten minutes to get to Griffith Park, Andy coming off the freeway in a tight right turn. He hit the lights and the surrounding traffic that she assumed Patrol was trying to get out of the immediate vicinity of the burning truck moved. It was a slow move, but they got out of the way nonetheless.

Guilt ate away at her in the back of her mind. She had to leave Catherine with Amy as Amy explained to the now widow what had happened to her husband. Amy could handle it. She made it as kid friendly as she could, seeing as the toddler still was in her lap when Sharon left. If anything Amy could pass the toddler onto Rusty and Rusty would be later compensated.

Griffith Park was considered to be the Central Park of the West Coast. It was home to different species of animals, hiking trails, an old and new zoo, schools, camps, it was 4,210 acres of green. In the late sixties, what was considered now, as the old zoo was one of the main attractions. Now abandoned, the ruins of the old zoo provided the LAPD parking as they pulled their trucks, cars, and Command Center up onto the grass.

"Ready?" Andy asked, looking over to Sharon who was closing up her notebook.

She turned her head slightly and gave him the briefest of smiles. "Does it matter?"

It made her stomach churn. Ideally she could walk home from here. It would be a long walk, but down the street and to the right was her apartment. From her windows she could see the hills of Griffith Park, the glow of the Observatory just out from the other side of the wall. It was partly why she made Rusty stay at the office. If their suspect was in these hills and they knew where she lived, it would be no problem for them to hike down one of the many roads and just camp out at the front door to her building.

Andy had left her alone at the command center. They had a few civilians from the looks of it, all in jogging outfits of some sort, talking to black and whites. Their pads of paper in hand.

What they had seen was a man from anywhere from the age of 30-40, coming out of the bushes essentially, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes. One report had said that they found it odd that the man was in jeans if he was going to go hiking. Another said they had passed him up on the hill, something was in his hand and they couldn't tell what. A sketch artist was floating around somewhere, she imagined. Sketching what would be later deemed as the face of terror.

"We're going to have men on the ground hiking the trails," Howard informed her, coming around the Command Center. "There's little to go on, but if he's up there, we're going to be coming at him from all angles."

As if on cue, the helicopter flew above their heads, her hair picking up in the breeze.

"We're going to have equestrian units going up as well," Howard said. "There are points up there that we on foot can't get to. It would be our luck that he found the way how."

"Of course," Sharon nodded, agreeing with the Deputy Chief.

The Chief's wife was on the manifesto; giving the LAPD pause whether or not to assign a team to him. His wife was visiting her father who had taken ill again in Atlanta. He had given Taylor a hard time with the Scarecrow team; he didn't want one, wasn't going to get one and if he had to sleep at the station he would. Sharon was convinced he was. He logged in more hours when his wife was out of town than when she was in.

"Did they take anything away from the truck?" Sharon asked, watching as the Fire Department came around the corner, down the piece of mountain that most likely led to the truck.

"Pieces of stuff, really," Howard shrugged. "A piece of a glock, some remains of a tent, a knife, a charred license plate."

"Were you able to run it?" Sharon asked. The Chief shook his head no. "How about under the hood? What about the VIN?"

"It doesn't belong to a John Burke," the Chief said.

"Who does it belong to?"

"Phillip Stroh."

The Chief was not a fan of the man. Neither would be Sharon if the man came after her spouse or significant other with a knife in the middle of the night. Sharon didn't like him because he was a sleazy lawyer. A sleazy lawyer who never made his way into the police force in any other capacity.

It made sense that _she_ was on the list. Time and time again her cases were ones he lost. The evidence out-tapped Stroh and she met the end of his glare more than once. He was the lawyer on the case that her son was part of – there was a special masters attached to it as well – but he was the lawyer and then disappeared. Fell off the radar, popping up every so often in different countries. She didn't think to worry.

There was no need. Not until now. Not until the sketch artist came back with the face of the man these women saw.

"Whoever he is has some heavy armor," Andy said holding up what once was an AR-15 case. "Might be planting himself in a hole waiting for nightfall to make a run of it."

"If he's smart he'll surrender," Sharon said. "I want to talk to him."

They had cleared the mountain of hikers and had everyone escorted off. Teams of police sat at various checkpoints along the mountain in the case they missed anyone. By nightfall they had cameras placed at all entrances and exits, the main command center picking up the heat off of the officers who were in the surrounding areas. Helicopters would circle, doing their best to pick up any foreign bodies.

Sharon yawned, stifling it as best she could with the back of her hand. A warm hand came and pressed against her shoulder. She turned, another small yawn creeping up on her. It made her eyes water, giving the impression she had been crying. She wiped the corner of her eye with her thumb, shook her head and gave him a small smile.

He had left around lunch, wanting to go back to the office to update the team and to finish up some paper work. She didn't mind being there, crawling through the hills, being on one of the teams. When the temperature dropped, it always did, she came back down, they all did, the teams starting to thin out and heading home.

Not that he was going to tell her, but the main reason he went back was because of the meeting he had to be part of. He did brief the team, he did finish off the paperwork, but he was part of Pope's meeting that ensured the people who was under surveillance stayed that way. To think that just this morning one of their friends had died. So much had happened, mentally and physically, that the morning seemed like weeks ago.

The number had jumped from 30 to 77 names in the course of twenty-four hours. The teams would be working in shifts that lasted anywhere from 12 to 14 hours and the protectees would have the black and white parked outside their residence. The hope was that they could lure their killer out of the shadows, make them believe that the security was relaxed. What they didn't know, the killer and the one being protected was that a team of sixteen were walking in the streets, in the immediate area in the case they could identify their suspect.

Andy was privy to that information. That Friday morning, and the next, for however long this manhunt would take, he would receive a box that contained to anyone else, pastries. A box of donuts would be delivered to him. Pope's way of making fun of themselves, going along with the stigmata that all police did nothing but drink coffee and eat donuts. Andy would receive a box of donuts and inside would be the daily briefing. The Intel from the over night surveillance team. When the box was delivered, the teams would change. He would report when he went in what was in the box.

The day shift would give him nothing. Andy was already in the meeting when their day was over. They had to report to Headquarters and Andy would receive the briefing then. He wasn't alone in this. There were other highly decorated captains, Commanders, various agencies, both state and federal, local too, all involved. It surprised him when he went to the conference room to see the men and women in the room with the same goal. Catch whoever did this.

Sharon had spent the last day and a half in Griffith Park, joining the teams in the mountains. Each team had a different starting point, different sections of ground to cover. Her excuse was that she was a cop just like the rest of them. She had to do it.

"Ready to go home?" Andy questioned.

She nodded. Nothing else for her to do. She was just waiting on him. Chief Howard had long since left, having to go back to Headquarters and then figure out how to get a hold of his wife with the time difference.

Too tired to care, to emotionally exhausted to think anything or do anything about it, Sharon left Andy's hand pressed at the lower part of her back as he pushed her to the car. There were people around, yes. Officers who would love to just gossip about the bitchy FID lady with the Major Crimes Detective were roaming around. Any other time they'd be chomping at the bit to get any thing to gossip about.

He opened the door for her, expecting her to come around and slip right in. Her hand covered hers and she looked up at him. She was exhausted. The lack of sleep beginning to show under her eyes, under the makeup. The façade of her well-put together mask was beginning to crack. He was prepared for when it finally broke, the pieces that were once well put together shattering at her feet.

She would crumble. The pressure would be her ultimate demise.

"Promise me," she began. "Promise me that whoever this is we'll catch him."

He couldn't just promise her that. It was loaded. "Dead or alive, we'll get the guy who did this."

The hand was warm she later surmised in the car. He took the back way, avoided the freeway. He drove the fifteen-mile speed limit, despite the lack of cars around him, despite the fact that he was the police and the only people on this side would be police, he still took his time. He hoped she dozed off in the car. Albeit short, he hoped she fell asleep so he could carry her up and into her apartment and lay her down. She needed it. They both did.

He wouldn't deny he was beginning to feel the weight of it. His friend died. Friends of his were being targeted. He was standing almost literally in between a killer and a bullet. It was close to nine-thirty when he finally pulled into her parking space. Rusty was taking out the trash, throwing it down the shoot with the officer in the hallway when he came up. Sharon was wide-awake at his side.

"Do anything interesting today?" Rusty asked when all three of them were seated at the table. Andy would later have the team come in and grab some food to take to the people downstairs.

"Hiked up a mountain," Sharon said honestly. It was an easy trail. She was with Howard and a rookie who was on her detail. "Saw a family of mountain lions."

Andy couldn't tell if she was keeping up with the happy family façade because it made the situation easier or because that's what she was trying to make it. Andy knew nothing of her son and her son knew nothing about him. Yet here they were, sitting together, having conversations as if they did it once or twice a week.

"So the media is saying this guy is like, crazy," Rusty said with his mouth full of food. "Is he?"

Sharon sighed. Andy sighed. The press had started in on the mental illness aspect early for the Friday morning news; it had gone on all day. The psychologist had told Pope not to flame the fire with the mental illness angle. It could set the killer off. He wasn't sick, he was just ill advised. At least that's what the psychologist said in Andy's meeting.

"The Chief has no control what the media says," Sharon said. "He tells them what he knows, they tell the people what will get them ratings."

"So –" Rusty began. "But isn't that, not helping? I mean like, can't the police tell the media to stop reporting it?"

"They can do and say whatever they want," Andy said, noticing Sharon had her mouthful. "Freedom of press. Now if they completely hinder an investigation by saying something that we didn't, then we can step in. Otherwise, it's anyone's game."

"That sucks." Rusty said.

"Totally," Andy agreed.

After dinner, Rusty had bid them goodnight and went to his room. Andy had excused himself to use the restroom and left Sharon at the table. She had said something about coffee and desert, but when he came back, there was nothing on the table in front of her. She was just staring off into space.

"You're going to fall asleep sitting up like that," Andy said, lowering himself into the chair next to her. "Go to bed, Sharon."

She shook her head. "Too much on my mind."

"Nothing to think about," Andy said, reaching out for her hand. Hoping to get back some of whatever transpired between them at the park. "This isn't about you."

"Don't belittle me like that," Sharon snapped, taking her hand and putting it in her lap. "My son is in danger and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

"What're you talking about?" Andy said. "You're doing everything you can."

"He hates me," she murmured. "I can see it. He hates that I have this job. He hates that my job makes him a target. He hates me."

"He does not hate you, Sharon." Andy said. "Jesus Christ he just wants to protect you, the way you protect him."

Sharon turned to look at him. He was close, but not close to scare her off. He knew better than that.

She leaned forward, just a little, to infiltrate his space and something happened to force her to shiver and stand. She was away from the table and down the hallway in seconds. It worried him. He followed.

Curled over her toilet, Sharon heaved the contents of her dinner into the porcelain bowl. She cried and her body shook as more came up. Piece by piece she cracked. Piece by piece she wanted to regain normalcy, but it was only taken away as the minutes ticked on. Her life was in danger. Any moment, any second, someone could kill the officers outside her door and kill her.

She would be rendered motionless in her living room as the bullets flew past her, around her, finally piercing her and taking her down too. She refused to go to bed thinking about what she woke up to the morning before. With Andy shaking her, forcing her awake, forcing her out of the devastation she thought her life had become.

Her handles trembled as she reached for Andy. He took her by the arm, lifted her up and sat her down on the closed bowl.

Warmth, was the word that came to Andy's mind as Sharon's thumb danced across his jaw. Her palm kissed his neck as she brought her hand down. She curled forward, her forehead meeting his. Her breath smelled like spaghetti sauce and whatever else was in her stomach. It was sour. He'd get her to brush her teeth in a minute. For now he just sat with her.

Did he feel bad for lying to her? Absolutely. He was lying to her every time he woke up. Every time she thought her only surveillance was the black and white outside her apartment. She knew that they went up during the day, took showers, ate a meal, and did a check of her building. She didn't know that next door was the official command center for her building. Where Andy disappeared to once he knew she was asleep.

The LAPD had sent her neighbor on an all expenses paid vacation up north to Washington where the woman had family. She was grateful as much as they were.

"I know about the donuts," Sharon muttered, her voice raw from the vomiting. "It's okay."

"Sharon-"

She hushed him, a finger to his lips. It was soft.

"Sleep with me," she ordered. Then it clicked. Her eyes widened with recognition and then she blinked. "Not – I don't-"

"Okay," he agreed. No sex. Just lie there and pretend to sleep. He could do that. "Yeah. Okay."

Teeth brushed. Hair combed. Face washed. Her nightly routine done as best as she could. He made her drink some water before pulling down the covers and crawling into bed. He toed off his shoes, leaving them at the foot of the bed and crawled into her bed fully clothed. When he came in earlier, he left his dress shirt somewhere – it was the only relatively clean one he had. He wanted to keep it that way. So he left his undershirt on. Those he had plenty of. If not he'd just steal one from one of the guys.

Faintly he could hear the helicopter circling nearby. The fan above him reminded him of it. His eyes focused on the blades turning and turning as the body next to him let out a deep breath. She rolled over and curled an arm around his waist, her head coming to his chest.

The warmth was inviting. He would not get up and check next door. He would not get up and check the laptop before he sacked out on the couch like he had been doing. He wouldn't get woken up at three in the morning from an Alert from Howard that the sketch artist had sent in the drawing. The drawing matched the surveillance from the boat dock two nights back. They had a face. They had a name. He wouldn't get it until morning.

Acquaintances for nearly thirty years. Co-workers for a little less than that. Partners for a few days. Surely, somewhere, this situation had been justified.

* * *

Thank you so much yet again for the follows, favorites, and comments! Keep them all coming. Hope you're enjoying this adventure.


	6. The Weekend

_Saturday 0:30-0000, Sunday (VOID), Monday (VOID), Tuesday, 0830 – 1130_

 _ **CF: 509865-A**_

 _Victim: Brett Johnson; age 39_

 _Cause of Death: GSW; AR15_

 _Suspect:_ _John Burke_ _,(Phillip Stroh) armed and dangerous, proceed with caution._

The banging on the apartment door startled him out of his sleep. The voices in the apartment, the low sound of footsteps forced him out of the bed and stumbling down the hallway. He cracked his shoulder on the doorframe, his hand slipping as he reached for the wall. It wasn't the black and whites that were stationed out in her hallway. It was Howard and a few of his team.

It was a sight to see, Andy Flynn in his slacks and t-shirt rumpled and his hair tossed with sleep. Howard gave him a knowing smirk. Andy gave him a raised eyebrow and shook his head. Howard wasn't going to be the type of person to force what had happened out of him. He understood.

Andy stood still as he watched SOB close the curtains. They unplugged all the electronics, closed the computers, and then hit all but one light.

"We need to move her to a safehouse," Howard said, pointing down the hallway. "The sketch came back as Stroh."

"Shit," Andy cursed. That woke him up. "Where are they taking her?"

Howard gave him a look. He couldn't really say, but Andy was just going to follow him anyway. "Wake her up. The kid is coming too."

"What the hell is going on?" Andy questioned. He was still half asleep. "What's going to happen to her?"

"She's getting pulled," Howard said. "Off the case and temporarily benched."

"That's not going to go over well," Andy said.

"She's a big girl," Howard quipped, giving him a smile.

He woke Sharon first. He was at her hip, running his hand up and down her arm. A smile started to grow as she groaned and rolled onto her back. He wanted to crawl into bed with her again. Pretend that Howard wasn't out there and slipping back under the covers was conventional.

Sharon wasn't getting up. He brushed the hair away from her eyes.. She moaned again and it went through him. She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and alert, yet still full of sleep. Uncertainty filled her eyes on top of that.

"Andy?" She mumbled. "What time 's it?"

"Just after midnight." He said. They had just gone to bed less than three hours. "Howard is here."

"What?" she struggled, trying to sit up. "He's what?"

"I'm going to splash water on my face," Andy said, nodding his head to the bathroom. "Got to get the kid up too."

There wasn't going to be a way to explain to her they were pulling her off the case. If she was pulled, his job was done. He'd be off her team. Someone else, someone – Howard, no doubt was going to take over.

The water was cool against his face. He jumped at the light touch against his back, a pair of warm hands coming up his back and coming around his middle. Her palms flat against his stomach, fingers clasped together as he braced himself against the sink. He was going to chalk it up to his over hyper imagination, but he swore she pressed her lips against his shoulder.

He straightened, placed his hands over hers and turned. He stood with her wrapped around him, his fingers at her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her jaw.

"They're taking you off the case," he supplied. She stiffened in his arms. Worry filled her eyes. "Safe house for you and the kid."

"Wh-"

"Sketch came back – it's Stroh," he said. "They shut the place down. They're moving you and the kid today. Right now."

She took in a deep breath. Her hand came up and caught his neck in her hand. He watched the decision she made dance behind her eyes. She was struggling with it all. Whatever possessed him to take a step forward he did, he pressed her back into the sink, his mouth inches from her.

"I kiss you I'm taking myself off," he said. "I'll be emotionally compromised. Hell, I'm already compromised."

It was a deep whisper. They were safe in the bathroom, their own secret hideaway. "Just do it."

Rusty was woken up by Sharon. Her body was taught with anxiety, the stress deep in her bones. Within the next ten minutes Mother and Son had their bags backed. Sharon carried out two, both for her she said. A lot of it was clothes, bathroom products and some shoes. Not that she was going to be allowed out, but she still wanted something on her feet if she left the confines of the room she was going to be in.

What she didn't give up was that a lot of the clothes in the bag, at the bottom belonged to her older son. Clothes that were in Rusty's closet she was bringing along for Andy. He would go in the morning and take himself off the case. He would be with Sharon if they needed him.

It was the warm hand in hers that centered her in the back of the car. The press was already scarcely camped out across the street from her apartment. They knew her car, they knew the car Rusty drove; it was a mess earlier in the day when Andy came in – they were shouting questions at him as if he could answer. Rusty was up front with Howard – their own personal escort. Buzz had been tasked to the electronic surveillance, for the past few days he was in a box with the rest of them trying to figure out what and where these people had seen Stroh.

Howard turned in the car when the car came to a stop. He didn't mention the hand holding, he didn't even look at it from what Andy saw. Sharon's eyes were glassed over, she yawned before turning to him when the feeling of someone watching her overpowered her.

"You're about to become one of the most protected people in Los Angeles," Howard said. He handed her a bracelet, courtesy of SID. "Panic button in the gem. I don't think you're going to need it, but if you do –"

"I know." Sharon nodded.

She held onto the bracelet and watched as Howard got out of the car. Rusty was still in the front from what she could see.

"Rusty can you-"

She didn't even finish and her son was exiting out of the car, leaving Andy and Sharon alone in the back seat.

"I'm going –" Sharon started, shaking her head, the tears welling up in her eyes.

"It's just a hotel room," Andy shrugged. "Pretty nice one – it's got to be."

"That's not it," she hook her head. "This is out of control."

"A little bit," he agreed. He offered her his hand and he entwined her fingers with his when she accepted. "Ready for this? Just a couple with a lot of security."

It got her to smile so that was something.

That was exactly how it felt. A couple, their son and lots of security. A woman who worked at the hotel met them at service elevator. She tried to strike up a conversation with Rusty who looked over at Sharon. His mother was curled into Andy, stifling yet another yawn into his shoulder. An arm was around her waist, keeping her upright. She was dead on her feet. So was the kid, but he was young and probably hadn't been asleep long or much at all when Sharon pulled him out of bed.

They were under the watch of LAPD as they were escorted off the service elevator, the door to their rooms at the end of the hallway. The door was opened and once again it was just Howard and the three of them. Rusty said nothing, just went into one of the two rooms in the suit and closed the door behind him.

"Kids, huh?" Howard tried, making it light. Andy snorted and Sharon rolled her eyes. Rusty knew what it meant. They almost had to move him to a safe house a couple years ago.

"What are we in for here, Chief?"

It was nearing one or around one in the morning and the Chief was worn down. He was running on fumes. If the man was smart he'd wrap this up and go grab some sleep. A few minutes would be a gift to him.

"Per Chief Taylor's request and Chief Pope's adherence you have been pulled from active duty."

Andy had warned her. She knew it was coming. She nodded and the Chief continued.

"Your children, the elders, have been called, they have been made aware of the situation," Howard continued, expecting Sharon's surprise. Andy neglected to tell her that part. "If it becomes a necessity, we will be sending a team up north to your son, unless he gets on a plane to New York."

"You talked to my children?" Sharon questioned, her mind not completely wrapped around it. "How long have you known this was going to happen?"

Howard tossed a quick glance at Andy who was stepping back. He wasn't going to have any part of Howard's screw up. The one thing he knew about Sharon, that really anyone knew about Sharon was not to mess with her kids. She was damned protective. Her job made sure of that.

"When it became a necessity to ensure their safety," Howard said. "We protect you and your family, Captain. They're adults. We contact them directly."

"They are my children-" She interrupted. She was wide-awake now.

"Your son or your daughter step foot into your house without protection and the suspect is there, what do you think will happen to them? If Stroh is after you, Captain, what makes you think he'll save their lives?"

It was a punch to the gut that even had Andy taking in a sharp breath. Putting that in her head would only keep her up. She wouldn't relax. She'd begin to hyperventilate, forcing her into a panic attack and he'd be the one to clean up the mess. Not that he minded – he just really wanted to punch Howard.

The woman had her life hanging in the balance and the guy thought it would be a good idea to dangle her kids in front of her? If he wanted her to work with him he was going about it the wrong way.

Sharon turned away from him, her voice caught in her throat.

"Seeing as Flynn has pulled himself off the case," Howard continued on, this time directing his attention to Andy. "He will no longer be going to the morning and evening briefings. He will no longer be part of your security detail and he will be acting as a civilian in this case."

"He gets protection," Sharon muttered darkly. She looked up at Howard, gave him a challenging glare. "If he can't be protection, he gets it."

"I can't authorize that," Howard said, challenging her right back.

Andy didn't want the twenty man detail he was going to get. He knew Sharon. She was going to stop at nothing to get it. If she got it that meant –

"There's going to be sixty people on you Captain," Howard said. "I can't have sixty bodies off that mountain watching you paint your toes and do your hair."

"Excuse me?" Sharon questioned. "Sixty people?"

Andy ducked his head. Okay. So he didn't tell Sharon about the detail that was protecting her. He didn't tell her that there weren't just the two in the hallway and the two in the car. He might have forgotten the detail that Howard explicitly told him to tell her.

Howard was angry. He had every right to be. Andy, at the time, disobeyed a direct order. What could he do now, other than say 'oops?'

"There is a sixteen person detail, civilian clothes, SID, walking around in and out of the crowds wherever you are," Howard supplied, since Flynn didn't do it. "You get sixteen, your son gets sixteen and if you get Flynn involved in this detail, that's sixteen more men and women."

Sharon spun on her heel to give Andy a fixed glare. He'd talk to her about it later. When she didn't look like she was about to commit murder.

"Then cut it down," Sharon said. "Eight for me, eight for my son, eight for Flynn. That way you won't have so many men sitting and watching me do my hair and paint my toes."

"I'll see what I can do," Howard said, nodding his head. "I'll be back in the morning for a briefing."

They watched as Howard left the room, leaving Sharon and Andy in a palpable amount of tension. Andy reached down to pick up their bags but thought better against it. He might have to sleep on the pullout sofa that came with the room.

"You didn't think to mention that I had twenty people on me?" Sharon asked.

The room had fallen silent when Howard left and they stood in their positions for however long. Neither of them knew. It wasn't until she felt the ache in her body that she decided to start the ball and get it to role towards the answer she wanted.

"Sharon look-" Andy began. "What would have happened if I told you? You would have flown the kids down here, put them under house arrest and then worried about them hating you."

Sharon blinked. He was right. She wasn't going to admit it but he was right. All three of her kids under one roof sat comfortably with her. They would all be together. She would know where they were. But that what if came back to haunt her. The question posed by Howard. If she did that, she could very well have no children. Her entire life would be down the drain in the matter of seconds.

"I want to protect them," she challenged. "The same way you would protect yours."

"I wouldn't hold them hostage Sharon," Andy said. "Rusty gets the team because he's here. You know that."

She did. She was exhausted. Her body ached. It was a dull throb that seeped into her muscles. She just wanted her bed.

Andy reached out to her, his hand inviting hers to join it. He hoped she'd take it so he could pull her to him and into the bed.

It wasn't the most ideal situation. It wasn't an ideal situation at all, but with Stroh last seen in Griffith Park, she was too close. The man could very well enter her apartment without anyone noticing. Before they had his photo, he could have posed as one of her security, which gained access into her home and shot her point blank. It wouldn't have mattered.

The rest of the weekend went on silently. The teams continued their search of the mountain and found nothing. The tip lines got hundreds and hundreds of calls that officers went to check. Most of them came back negative. One went as far as Nevada where someone said they saw someone who looked like Stroh. It wasn't, but it was close.

By Tuesday, a week after the entire nightmare began, Sharon was starting to go stir crazy. She wasn't allowed out in the case someone saw her, took a picture, and posted it online. She wasn't a celebrity, but she, they, the LAPD didn't want it to happen by accident. The safe house would be compromised, their identities would be too and safety would be thrown out.

If she wanted food, she'd call room service and someone would knock on the door. She'd open it always to an LAPD officer who asked her the same question. "Has anyone else tried to enter?"

The answer was always, "No."

Rusty couldn't go out either. Andy, by default couldn't either. Though he wanted to. Deemed himself riskless. But as so Howard so elegantly put it, in front of Rusty nonetheless, Andy had gotten into bed with her and was going to stay there until this was over. That was Sunday breakfast. Monday lunch, Rusty finally spoke to them. Sharon first. Then Andy.

Tuesday came and they were allowed out. They had a funeral to go to. Sharon was pacing in front of Andy in the living room as they waited for their escort downstairs. She was fixing the backing of one of her earrings. Rusty was still in the bathroom fixing his tie, Andy was in his suit.

They were acting as civilians. Howard had come by already once that morning and handed them tiny flag pins. Sharon scoffed as she took it, but took it anyway. She felt like she was being demoted. Someone higher up was playing a cruel trick on her and she wasn't getting her job back.

A knock sounded at the door and Andy stood to his feet. In his hands were Sharon's purse, her sunglasses and his coat. It wasn't cool, but it wasn't warm either and where the funeral was going to be held, there was always a breeze.

"Rusty!" Sharon called, knowing her son would be appearing any moment.

She turned to Andy and he handed over the purse and sunglasses. The purse was slid onto her shoulder and she kept the glasses in her hand. She'd put them on when they got into the car down in the garage.

"This is really happening," she muttered. He nodded.

She took a deep breath and he took a step into her. He dropped his head quickly. She reached up so their lips met. A motion that could be seen as them doing it a million times. When in reality it was only the fifth or sixth time in three days.

:"Ready?" He asked, slipping his hand in hers.

"No," she breathed, when Rusty stepped into the room.

His eyes went to their hands and then up to his mother's face. She showed no emotion. No embarrassment or anything.

Rusty opened the door and Sharon reached out for him, pulling her to him.

The kid had to be strong for her. She had to be strong for him. Andy had to be strong for them and his heart was in his throat. Anxiety was churning in his stomach. He just hoped that they knew what they were doing bringing her into the open like this.

* * *

Hello to the new folks who have been reading! I should point out that the days of the week at the top, with the case number, correspond to the days in the timeline. So this chapter takes place in like 4 days. Short bits and pieces of the days.

Thank you to the people who are reviewing! Keep doing it! I can't wait to hear what you all think about it. We've got two or three more chapters to go.


	7. Tuesday - 1 Week

_Tuesday – 1 week_

 _ **CF: 509865-A**_

 _Victim: Brett Johnson; age 39_

 _Cause of Death: GSW; AR15_

 _Suspect:_ _John Burke_ _,(Phillip Stroh) armed and dangerous, proceed with caution._

Mourners went up the church steps as officers surrounded the mountain. A final tally would be six hundred. The first wave of bodies crawling up the mountain would be two hundred. They were forced to take cover immediately, while mourners fifteen minutes away took their seats in pews.

Sharon Raydor took off her sunglasses when she stepped into the church. Her hand was still in Andy's. He used his free hand to take off his own pair of glasses, tucking them in the breast pocket. Her heels echoed against the marble floor. Her breath sounded loud in her ears, catching in the stone pillars and bouncing back at her in full force. Rusty was on her right, close by, her arm no longer looped in his.

Officers who went up the mountain put spike strips along the path. The mountain is completely shut down. A call had been picked up on the tip line – a stolen vehicle was up on the mountain. Stroh stole it. There was no doubt that it was Stroh, partially because the man said he was Stroh. What happened next, no one was prepared for.

Sharon took a deep breath as the entire church turned to face the casket as it came down the aisle. The pallbearers were a mixture of officers and relatives all marching to a silent cadence. They moved slow, step-by-step, in unison. It seemed like ages – the body coming down in a flag draped casket. All the men wore gloves. That's what she noticed; the gloves. She reached out, her fingers curling into the cuff of Andy's suit. He threw her a look over his shoulder; a small smile returned to him – she was okay.

It was coming straight at them. The truck that Stroh had stolen from the couple in the small cabin that belonged to the Camp was driving well over the speed limit. The cops inside didn't know what to think when the truck stopped. A few seconds passed before the car was shifted back into drive and began driving towards the units coming up. A loud pop sounded, followed by many more. It joined in the sound of glass breaking, the windows of the unit vehicles shattering instantly. No one knew that inside the vehicle, amidst the broken glass was a father of two shot and bleeding.

Raised Catholic, Sharon prayed weekly. Her family had gone to church on Sunday's, the sermons made her think. It was talked about at dinner, arguments between siblings, points matched between her and her parents. She didn't go to church to rid herself of the evil life had brought her, but to be closer to her family. Family was everything to her. She protected them no matter what. It was how she was raised; it was how she was trained.

"Let us bow our heads and pray," the woman's voice sounded throughout the church.

As they prayed, bullets continued to fly. Stroh had escaped behind a series of trees, a small park services shack becoming his temporary place of refuge. Through a small window, aim was taken; a bullet was let out of the chamber, one in quick succession after the other. It pierced skin, shredding it to pieces. It and everything beneath it. Later, the report would read that the bullet hit an Officer, shattering it's jaw and front teeth, the bullet lodging itself in the roof of his mouth. The kneecap that was shattered and the round that pierced his left forearm and chest was nothing in comparison.

Sharon kissed Rusty on the cheek, patting him as she gave him a heartfelt smile. She turned to Andy, giving him a smile and leaned up, kissing him. He was warm, a beacon of possibility in the sight of disaster. He wrapped an arm around her, hugging her to him. He let her go in order to shake other people's hands, granting them peace. Peace, the freedom from war of violence. Freedom from disturbance; quiet and tranquility. As Andy stood next to Sharon, her pinky finger tapping his, the smile that blossomed on her lips, he silently prayed for quietness and tranquility to come quickly.

With an officer down in the kill zone, officers called to each other, trying to find a way in. The kill zone was an open piece of land in front of them. Behind the trees, a move left or right would put them in direct sight of their shooter. The helicopters hovered over the mountain, the caller in the pilot seat ordering things from above them. An armored truck that was called would provide cover to the thirty officers who had taken refuge behind the trees. Everyone else, whoever was behind them as back up, was safe to back off.

The same amount of care was given to the casket as it was marched down the aisle to the waiting car. Catherine and the baby on her hip were flanked by what Sharon could only assume were her brothers. Teenage girls followed behind them, wiping their eyes. Nieces, Sharon concluded. Brett had a brother; he was currently acting as a pallbearer. When it was their turn to exit the pew, Sharon made the sign of the cross, slipped her hand into Andy's and felt the heat of her son next to her. It was a small piece of comfort.

"Come here," Andy said, taking Sharon out of the line of mourners once they were outside. "Something happened."

Sharon slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head. They were in the shade. She didn't need them. Rusty had come up next to her.

"What?" Sharon pressed.

Andy pulled his phone out of his pocket, went to the message he read from Buzz earlier, while people were receiving communion. Sharon and Rusty included. Among the sea of standing people he took his phone out and gave a quick glance. As Sharon read the message, Andy took a look around. It seemed he wasn't the only one who got the news.

Some people kissed their wives, got in their cars and drove off speeding. The ones in uniform were gone in seconds. Their families left, just like that. No knowledge of when their husband's or wives would return. If they would. The idea churned in Sharon's stomach as she handed the phone back to Andy.

"What's going on?"

"They found Phillip Stroh," Sharon said, summarizing it quickly for her son. "It should be done by nightfall."

A second officer had been shot. It was an attempt to rescue the first who had been deserted by the vehicle that he had taken refuge behind. The man was shot above the vest, the bullet piercing his heart. He was dead in seconds. The body dropped to the ground with a thud.

The gunfire lasted another ten minutes before silence fell. A cloud of smoke followed a whistle. A cloud of green came out and gunfire erupted from both sides. Then nothing. The radios were going off, chatter from the air patrol, men around the other side who had a clear view inside the shack – it was a tiny place. Stroh couldn't get far. A call for the police to cease-fire made it around the perimeter and the LAPD stopped their fire. An armor vehicle came roaring up, stopping in front of the trapped officers, the bodies who were on the ground providing temporary relief.

The men jumped to their feet from behind the truck and ran for the bodies. One was still alive, his face ruined by the bullet. Blood seeped onto the ground, the man still bleeding from multiple bone breakages, ruptured veins, shredded facial muscle – the man was in pain, it was just numb. The second body was DOA, but they tried to revive him. Nothing.

An ambulance was waiting for them at the Command post. One was taken to the hospital, the other to the Morgue. The EMT's waited, expecting more injuries.

"Stop it," Sharon muttered to Andy whose knee was bouncing in his chair at the burial site.

He wanted out. He needed to be up there. It made him uneasy that he was sitting there when he should be up there helping. He knew Sharon felt the same. Every time someone's phone would ring she'd tense up. Howard was there, his phone was going off the entire burial service. He did his best to ignore it. But as the priest called on everyone to bow their heads one more time, the man turned away and answered the phone.

A hand over his knee temporarily stopped the bouncing. The warmth seeped into him. It was the gunshot that sent his blood into a boil. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to be up there. He had –

Sharon was pulling him up. Her hand under his arm, forcing him to his feet. A 21-gun salute, three sets of seven went off. Every time the guns went off Andy thought about what was happening on the top of the mountain.

It wouldn't be until after the burial, when he was forced to go to the wake, they'd find out.

They set fire to the mountaintop. They lit the shack on fire. Someone with a scope had been able to confirm that the man inside was dead. A bullet wound to his head. Self-inflicted or not, their man was down.

"I'm having a great time," Rusty said, coming to stand next to his mother in the corner she had secluded herself to. "But you know, I don't know anybody and I would like to go home."

Sharon patted her son on the shoulder. Home would be nice. Their own beds would be nice. She understood.

"I haven't heard anything," Sharon said. "As soon as this is over we'll go home."

It was enough for now, she figured. Rusty nodded and took a drink of his soda. Her eyes were on Flynn, even beneath the dark lenses he sensed her. He gave her a look, a smirk at the corner of his lips and she grinned.

The smile faded quickly as she quietly and mentally chastised herself. How could she be happy at a time like this? A woman lost her husband. A child lost his father. She lost a friend. There was nothing to be happy about and yet Andy shined light into the darkness. She was able to be weak around him because he was strong enough to hold her up. She appreciated it.

The crowd was quickly alerted to visitors when they all heard the quick succession of doors slamming. Heavy booted feet came barreling through the house. Quick breaths were taken and Sharon thought, 'this is it.'

Andy had come to stand in front of her. Blocking her from the possibility of them taking her away. But it didn't come to that. Instead the men, dirty and grimy from the mountain had gone to their respected partners while one went to Catherine and took a bent knee. He ruffled the toddler's hair and told the woman something quietly. Catherine let out a sob; she covered her mouth and leaned to hug the man in front of her.

Sharon looked to Andy and Andy dug his phone out of his pocket. Sharon looked around and several men were doing the same. One whooped, another one hollered, and another one cheered.

"We fucking got 'im," One yelled and the crowd erupted into applause.

Sharon looked to Rusty. They were able to go home.

There was cause to celebrate, but Sharon wanted out. She wanted her sanctuary that was her apartment. A member of her detail was standing with a beer in his hand. Technically he was on duty and she was still a member of the FID. When she approached, he was coughing and trying to hide the alcohol.

"Don't worry," Sharon said, holding up her hand. "I come in peace. I just want the keys to the car."

The officer looked bewildered at her. She really wasn't going to say anything about the beer?

She held out her hand for the keys and when the officer handed them over she smiled. "Enjoy it, Sergeant."

The kid's name was Elliot, she read off the nametag.

Sharon walked around the house, to the street where her son and Andy were waiting. She handed over the keys to the man and slid into the passenger seat, the weight of the week settling into her.

The realization that she was being hunted would settle into her system soon. She expected it. Even so, she knew the weight of it was going to floor her. She would cry, she would hate her job. She was alive and four others were dead.

There would be quiet funerals for the Judge's daughter and her fiancé. Another funeral for the fallen officer who took a round to the heart. She wanted to go to none of them, but at the same time she felt obligated. Her life had been on the line just as much as theirs and she got to walk away without a scratch.

"We're going to have to call Dr. Joe in the morning," Sharon said when they loaded the elevator that would take them up to her apartment.

Andy was close, but distant. The lack of security surprised her. The teams had been called off almost immediately. They were all relieved of duty – a mandatory reprieve issued by Chief Pope. No one had to be told twice.

"Because talking about almost being killed by a cop killer is something I want to do," Rusty quipped as he turned his key in the lock to the apartment.

No one moved. He felt weird stepping into the apartment. The surveillance equipment had been cleared out that morning.

Sharon turned on the lights. Everything had been left the way she remembered it to be three or four days prior. She couldn't remember what day they were put into the safe house. Sunday? Saturday? She shook her head as she slipped the heels of her feet, sinking four inches into the carpet of her living room rug.

"I'm going to take a shower," Rusty announced.

Andy was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. There was no real reason for him to be there. He wasn't anything. Just a friend of the family who she spoke to once a month if she didn't see him at work.

"Come, sit," Sharon said, stripping off her coat, revealing the sleeveless dress she wore to the funeral.

"I should probably go," Andy mentioned.

Sharon looked up, her eyes darkening a bit. She was tired and starting to feel it. It was nearing nine in the evening, the wake and her being there was longer than she expected.

"Come have a drink," she said. "I've got something you can have around here."

"Sharon really."

"Andy," Sharon said, tilting her head. "You've known me for thirty years. Do you really expect me to just turn my head and expect noting more of you?"

It took him by surprise. But then again she always did. A drink, soda or water or even juice would be okay. He'd sit with her, they'd talk about the service, about the case, gloating that it was finally over and then the awkward dance of should they or shouldn't they go to bed. Together. Him on one side, her on the other, their bodies fully clothed.

Toeing off his shoes, setting them next to hers, he figured he'd work it out when he got there.

* * *

And this is the last case chapter! The next one is going to be the epilogue. Then it'll be over. But I still would like to know what you guys think about this chapter! Leave me a review, send me a PM, just send me your thoughts!


End file.
